George Malthouse was extremely shocked when he discovered one of the tubes in Lab No. 12 missing. Dressed in white overalls and with a mask fitted tightly over his face he looked anxiously at his colleague. Although he wore a mask, Malthouse saw a frown appear on Kinsella’s forehead.
“Are you sure there is one missing, is it not a miscount?” Kinsella asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, there are only ten of them, I hope you do agree I can count to ten”?
“Of course that is a silly question of me. But it’s odd because we are the only one working here.”
“Don’t forget Ellis,” Malthouse remarked. “If the tube isn’t here in the lab and you and I don’t have it, then who else could be the thief?”
“That explains his strange behaviour of yesterday,” Kinsella said.
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you see he was sweating terribly”? Kinsella frowned.
“Yeah, he said he didn’t feel so good and thought he’d better go home early.” Malthouse remembered.
“Exactly, don’t you assume that was suspicious?” Kinsella asked.
“It was indeed,” Malthouse answered as he picked up the phone.
“Morning Sally, its George from Lab 12 here, call Ellis for me will you please.”
Several moments later the phone rang, Malthouse who was still standing beside it picked up the receiver.
“There is no reply!”
*
Detective Sarah Wolters was about to start her breakfast when her phone rang. Unfortunately the food had to wait now she was required to check out a case. Leaving her five-year-old German Shepherd Shabty to guard the house, she mounted her brand new Kawasaki.
The bike gave her a feeling of freedom. The wind blew her hair from under her helmet as she drove to yet another crime scene. This time it concerned a break-in at one of the largest medical laboratories in the country.
The nine story high building of the Thompson Research Station stood on the Floral Boulevard. The barriers opened slowly after Sarah showed the guard on duty her badge. He allowed her through with a swift nod of his head. Inside the laboratory a stocky man greeted Detective Wolters. Escorted by him she took in the surroundings. The place gave her the impression of being in a modern office building. Surprised to see the spacious entrance hall, she counted six doors on the west, six on the east side of the hall; all with numbers. The man stopped at number 12. When he pushed the door open, there was an office.
“This must be wrong,” she looked at the stocky man in bewilderment.
“No, we’re in the right place. You need to put these on.” The man handed her a white pair of overalls and a full protection mask.
“Nobody enters the lab without these. We don’t want anything to happen to our guest.” The man’s face formed a grimace.
When Sarah finished putting on the gear, she felt like a representative from Venus. With all the gear she wore, no one could see her beautiful, wavy black hair. Her sea-blue eyes peered through the mask. Most of her colleagues didn’t estimate her much older than 25. If they only knew, she had celebrated her 40th birthday the previous week.
“You’re ready to go into the lab now,” the man said after he assisted Detective Wolters with her mask. “Breathe normally.”
The man released a heavy metal door and he showed her where to go with a wave of his hand. Entering Lab No. 12 a wave of heat blew into her face.
“Can you do something about those radiators?” Sarah spoke to a figure with his back turned to her.
She had no idea to who she was speaking to. The moment the figure turned around, she recognized Sergeant Cedric Garnham. He smiled from behind his mask. Their eyes met for a few second, then he said, “There seems to be one of the culture tubes missing. It contains a virus.”
They were standing in front of a stainless steel table, which contained two microscopes, an incubator, and other equipment of which neither of them knew what they were. When Sarah moved closer to Garnham he moved away.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sarah hissed. “Do I smell”?
“Did you put the whole bottle on or something?” Garnham said indignantly.
“Don’t put on such a show, it’s only a bit of perfume,” Sarah tut-tutted.
“Do me a favour and keep your distance,” Garnham said while he shifted further from Sarah.
“I can’t imagine someone steals only one tube.” Garnham’s voice echoed through a microphone in Sarah’s ear, making the situation even more like an outer space adventure.
In front of a refrigerator, Sarah asked, “Any signs of a break-in?”
“No.”
“Then whoever took the tube must have worn an invisible cloak to get in the lab unnoticed, or else it must be one of the staff, “Sarah said.
“If you’re so sure who took the tube, why aren’t you out there arresting him?” Or perhaps you can’t smell him because of all the perfume you’re wearing,” Garnham said.
“I didn’t say I knew who did it.” Sarah thought Sergeant Garnham an impossible man to work with. During her time on the police force, she’d seen him transform from a timid individual into a self-assured, sometimes even arrogant detective. She could still see him entering the crowded police station eight years ago with his briefcase and clean cut hair. This wasn’t the first time she had to bite her tongue.
“There is no point in dusting for fingerprints as everyone here wears gloves all the time.” Garnham waved his hand as though he dismissed a fly.
In the course of the day, a CSI team moved into the Thompson Research Station while forensics were busy looking for clues in Lab No. 12, George Malthouse and John Kinsella were sent to the canteen.
“I hope Ellis didn’t contaminate the other tubes.” George exclaimed. The expression on his face was serious. How could Ellis do this to them? He knew the danger of the virus. Malthouse opened a few buttons of his shirt to let in more air.
John Kinsella looked at his hands as he shook his head. The clock in the canteen ticked in the absence of the other employees. The other scientists went home as usual around five. The sound of the ticking irritated Kinsella it became louder by the minute. “That fucking clock is driving me mad!
“Do you honestly believe I’ll steal my own work?” Malthouse retorted. Sitting in the director’s office, he couldn’t believe what Garnham asked him. This project was his child, his flesh and blood; he would never put it in jeopardy. Not even for all the gold in the world. Although convinced Ellis done the evil deed, he failed to report his suspicion. There might be another explanation for Ellis’ absence today. For a start he could really have the flu and be unable to answer his phone. Until he knew what was going on he decided to keep his mouth shut.
Malthouse narrowed his eyes. “Look here, I am a hardworking man. I am here to earn an honest living.”
Without any warning, Garnham slammed the table with a thick phone book. With his heart in his throat, Malthouse looked at the detective, his eyes wide open. A drop of sweat ran its course from his forehead all the way down his face.
“I will let you go for now. But I warn you, don’t leave town.” Standing up, Garnham placed his hands on the table. He stared for a few seconds into Malthouse’s eyes then walked towards the door. Before he reached the door, Garnham turned around to say,
“Don’t play games with me Mr. Malthouse!”
After his ordeal in the director’s office, Malthouse made his escape to the car park. As he approached the car, he saw a dent right above the rear bumper. Someone must have hit his car from behind. Inspecting the dent more closely, he discovered silver coloured paint.
Malthouse gazed for a moment at the research station. He pondered whether he should return to the station to inform the police who were still inside? Changing his mind, he got into his car and turned on the engine.
Sarah Wolters sat in one of the deserted offices of the TRS. Several times she’d been through the list of all the staff members who were on duty the day before. She took a sip from her can of Coca Cola. Either she missed something or one of the people on the list was their man. She considered this was going to be a long night. They should start at the very beginning by reading the personal files of all the staff working at the station; commencing with the people on this list.
Garnham entered the office carrying a pile of files under his arm. Throwing half of them onto the desk, he said, “There is your lot, I’m going home,” without a goodbye, he left the room.
With only a few of forensic technicians elsewhere in the building, Sarah felt incredibly lonely. She jumped when she heard one of them drop something. Looking around the sparsely lit office she shivered. In a former life Sarah worked as a researcher in a lab. No one was allowed to enter the room without wearing their personal protective equipment, similar to an astronaut suit, with a helmeted independent air flow to each suit. Another thing which puzzled her was the lack of a secure room to keep the virus in. Didn’t these people care? A treacherous product like this needed to be kept in a hermetically sealed container, only reachable via armholes. Instead of taking protective measures to keep the prototype of the medicine safe TRS had failed to protect their latest product. “What was going on in this place”? “Did anyone care”?